Unconventional
by respitechristopher
Summary: Stars the "Scorpius Malfoy Learns Quidditch" trio. Post-Hogwarts. Rosie needs to decide whether she wants to be happy or cool. Scorpius and Al help her make her decision. For the Reviews Lounge's Birthday Ficathon of Spring '09.


"Al, I'm going to need your help here, mate."

Scorpius Malfoy was in a bind. He'd been dating my cousin Rose since fourth year, which was ten years ago by that point. They had what Rose called an 'open relationship,' which meant they lived together, had no plans on marriage, but were free to go home with other people as they wished, with no guilt and no explanations necessary. What it meant in practice was that Rose got to sleep with whoever was willing, and Scorpius got to wonder why he wasn't good enough for her. They'd started living together less than a year after Hogwarts, and Scorpius had been stoically allowing Rose this liberty ever since. And then, at least four or five times a year, he'd fling himself onto my couch, declare this was 'the last time,' and then go crawling back to her the following afternoon.

In order to understand how this came to be, one should probably know a bit about Rose and Scorpius. Rose was an odd sort, by Weasley standards (probably why she was my favourite cousin, after all). Uncle Ron put much of her behaviour down to "too much of her mum's influence," which is what he muttered every time she came home with a new piece of metal in a less-than-conventional place on her body, a new hair colour, or a new cause. She was regarded as 'a bit of a free spirit' by Grandma Molly, looked at rather askance by Uncle Percy and Aunt Audrey, and generally brought a good bit of conversation around her doings at family gatherings. Aunt Hermione was simultaneously thrilled that a daughter of hers was so involved in politics (Rose was rather a beacon of the Witches' movement), and tacitly disappointed that she didn't seem to be anywhere near settling down, long after most witches have gotten married and produced a sprog or two.

But Rosie had her scene. She and a few muggle-born classmates had thrown themselves headlong into the protests in Muggle London over Britain's role in the African diamond wars that started in '28. As the others wound down their involvement however, Rosie ramped hers up, getting herself arrested at least a dozen times, and using her familial influence to bring to light the level to which the Ministry itself was in bed with DeBeers and their mercenary army. She sported what was certainly the first set of electric pink dreadlocks ever seen on a witness in the Wizengamot, and I was dead proud of her. But it was after the wars that things got strange with her. Don't get me wrong, I think it's brilliant that she's helped bring about a nascent Witches' movement in Wizarding Britain – Merlin knows we're only fifty years behind the Muggles there. But that's when she started feeling her oats, as they say, and she really didn't do right by Scorpius at all. If he asked whether she'd be home at night, she said she was being "stifled by his controlling nature." And in negotiating the terms of their open relationship, she denounced all other heterosexual arrangements as "patriarchal tyranny," and not fit for 21st Century wizards and wizards such as they.

Which was in no way fair to her biggest fan: Scorpius Malfoy. He coaxed Rose through O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s with a mixture of cheerleading, romance and discipline. He stayed up with her all night learning papier-mâché spells to coat giant puppet skeletons for her political groups' rallies. He beamed with pride as she gave her groundbreaking testimony of the horrors inflicted by DeBeers using Ministry funds, and threw a muggle-safe celebration for 50 of their friends when Britain finally divested. He read her books, believed in her causes, and wanted nothing but Rose's highest happiness, because he'd been with her as she grew into the woman she became, and was therefore the person best able to "get" her. Truth be told, I admired the hell out of him. And that's why I was going to help him in any way I could. When he'd shown up to my flat that evening, I could tell there was something different about him. Maybe he actually had had quite enough this time. There was that quiet determination in his demeanour that was the hallmark of a Slytherin deep in thought, hatching a plan. So it was no surprise at all when he continued with

"I need to get laid."

"Right. Well, I'm flattered, Scor, really I am, but I'm kind of seeing someone at present, and I –"

"You are not, you sodding poufter. And I'm serious. I need a bird. A witch. One with a rack that would curl the straw on your broomstick. "

"Did you and Rosie have a falling out or something, mate?"

"No, but she's out again tonight with her 'Rubifruit Discovery' girls, and I've had it. Who do you know that's looking for a good shag?" I looked at him sideways, this kind of talk wasn't quite like him. "Okay, a mediocre shag, I don't care. She has to be fit, top-heavy, a witch, and someone who doesn't like girls herself – don't want the little woman stealing her away."

"Well, that rules out any of Lily's teammates on the Harpies, if what she says about them is true. Rules out Lily too, for that matter. Why do you need her to be so well endowed?"

"Are you serious, man? You've seen your cousin – I've gotten used to a nice set of –"

"Far too much information there, Scor. Tits it is, then. Have you ever met...?"

The next two hours were spent developing a list of potential dates for Scorpius. Woman after woman was suggested and summarily dismissed, for various reasons. Neville and Hannah's daughter Jessica was much too close to Rosie, which I understood completely. Jessica's cousin Samantha was too close to Jessica, and "you know how they'll talk." We'd gotten through a good two-dozen women who were either too short, too politically conservative, had fathers in too high political places (wouldn't want them to think about marriage, after all), or somehow or other just not right. I'd begun to doubt that Scorpius was really interested in getting a date at all, when he suggested we might just go out and see who was at the Leaky on a Saturday night. Which is when I knew a) he had no desire to find a Ms. Right Now, and b) he had been in a relationship much too long – what self-respecting single person went to the Leaky Cauldron on a Saturday night?

Turns out her name was Cara. Cara Garibaldi, to be precise. She was an attaché to Wizarding Italy's Ministry for Foreign Affairs (which has an Italian name that I really can't be arsed to remember at present), and had just arrived in London on a three month assignment shadowing the Italian consul. A metre seventy tall if she was an inch, with auburn hair and legs that seemed to go up to her neck, especially when she was wearing those pumps and that pencil skirt. She was standing at the bar, making small-talk with the bartender (Hannah hadn't been involved in the day to day running of the pub in years by that point) when we walked in. I thought I'd have to pick Scorpius's jaw up off of the floor when he got a look at her profile. Turns out that being able to stretch out a pullover is a trait shared by most women of Italian heritage. Who knew?

"Scorpius, mate, show a bit of dignity, will you?"

"Right. Yes. Merlin's Beard though, man. Have you seen those – "

"Let's just sit you down, Casanova. You might hurt something there. Shall we order?" I motioned for the bartender and ordered two flagons of firewhiskey by holding up two fingers and pantomiming steam coming from my ears. He nodded his head and began to decant the liquor into the large mugs. When the drinks arrived, I reckoned it was time for Scorpius to fly or get off the broomstick.

"Excuse me, sir," I asked, layering on the Weasley charm, "the young lady at the bar, what is she drinking?"

"Albus!" Scorpius hissed. "You can't! I mean, Godric man, isn't that a bit forward?"

"Hush," I dismissed my old school chum. "Sir?" I turned back to the barkeep.

"Right. She's been nursing a goblet o' the Elven mead like it was her mum's tit. Poor bird's been in here near forty-five minutes now, still on that same one. Has to have gone cold by now." I pulled a stack of ten Galleons from my purse and placed it in the man's hand.

"Cover the lady's bar tab if you would, my good man. Her drinks are on us," I proclaimed, chest puffed out. The older man chuckled, while Scorpius looked as though he was going to soil himself trying to maintain a calm demeanour.

"Ye have an eye for the ginger do ye, Mister Potter? Jus' like yer dad, eh? Madame Longbottom told me te watch out f'yer type. But begging your pardon, sir. If you're trying to catch the girl's attention, ye might want t' be a bit more – what's the word? Ah. – Subtle about it. Why don't ye buy the lass a drink instead?" Now it was my turn to chuckle.

"Of course, sir. Thank you for the suggestion. Oh, and sir?"

"Aye?"

"Please don't mention my mum again while I'm trying to pull a bird in a pub. Throws me a bit off my game, it does." The barkeep laughed heartily as he walked away. Scorpius tried to slide underneath the table.

"Albus, are you completely mental? What are you doing?"

"She's fit, isn't she?"

"Yes, but – "

"Would you like a chance with her?"

"Well sure, but – "

"Then shut your fool gob and let me help you, mate. She's not just going to waltz over here by herself, you know. It's going to take some planning. Subtle, precise, excruciatingly – Oh, hello." I nudged Scorpius, and the two of us rose out of our seats as Cara approached.

"Ciao, gente. I am Cara. You are the gente that are buying for me the mead?"

"Yes. Yes, that was us," I answered. My name is Albus Potter, and this is – "

"_Ciao, bella. Sono Scorpius; Scorpius Malfoy. Molto incanto lieto d'incontrarmi con cosa bella signora_," Scorpius broke in. Or something like that. I was too busy doing my best impression of a carp to do a post-facto translation of a language I don't speak. Meanwhile Scorpius is kissing the back of Cara's hand and pulling a chair out for her as if he'd been doing this his whole life.

"Where in Salazar's name did you learn to speak Italian, Scor?" I whispered, as we sat down.

"Practically grew up with the Zabini-Carmichaels, mate." Scorpius shrugged. "Blaise and my dad were best mates through school, after all. And their Teo's a good bloke. We'd all go on holiday to their villas together, see, and one simply can't properly do summers in Tuscany and winters in the Alps without knowing a bit of the language, can one? But we have a guest with us, Albus. Cara, to what do we owe the honour of such a beautiful flower of _Italia_ appearing on our shores?"

Cara, in her charmingly broken English, proceeded to tell us how she'd been in London for three days, and precisely what she was doing for her Ministry. Scorpius would jump in occasionally to assist her with her English, and he also regaled us with stories of his summers in Tuscany – certainly more than a bit embellished with the romance of the place – and after about an hour (and several more flagons of firewhiskey), they figured out that they had spent their summers within about 10 miles of each other. So, the next several hours were spent reminiscing over vineyards and sunsets, farms and markets, all in a haze of olive oil and garlic-scented nostalgia and wonder. At least that's how I imagine it went. By the time they'd made the connection, I excused myself to head back to my flat, barely noticed. Scorpius didn't return that night, nor did I expect him too. I wound up drinking myself to sleep listening to the wireless. Ah, the bachelor life.

The following morning I was nursing a wicked hangover, when I was woken by a singularly unexpected visitor.

"Oi! Outta bed, you lazy sod. Where is he, then? He's not at home, and he's not on your sofa. Did he pay his mum a visit?"

"Right. What time is it, Rose?"

"Half past Merlin's hairy arse. Now where's Scor?"

"Bloody hell, woman. It's not yet ten o' clock on a Saturday. Go back to your own flat. Or make yourself useful and put on a kettle." Surprisingly enough, she did put a kettle on for the two of us, and my headache was somewhat mollified by the caffeine.

"Right. You've had your tea, now where is he?" I took a deep breath. I could tell this wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation.

"Don't know exactly, Rose. But I have a guess. We went out last night, to the Leaky of all places. He met this girl there, you see, and –"

"About bloody time."

"Really now , Rosie, you've done your share of extracurricular – come again?"

"I said it's about bloody time. Berk's so attached to me that I've feared he's going to propose one of these days. I mean I love him madly, but honestly! He needs a life of his own, you know."

"Right." I was a bit taken aback, but not wholly so. I'd known Rose too long to really be surprised by her at that point.

"So, what's she look like? Is she fit?"

"Red hair, nice rack, legs that don't quit." Rose rolled her eyes and chuckled.

"Never fails to amaze me how men can reduce a human being to a collection of assembled body parts. Still, good to see that he has such a good eye for classical beauty. Think he'd share?" It took all the concentration I could muster to swallow my mouthful of tea when she asked that.

"If you allow me to take pictures, I'll split the proceeds with you."

Rose nearly fell over laughing. "Right. I'm sure my doing a porno photo shoot is precisely what the Witches' movement needs."

We talked for a bit longer, catching up on her work in the Ministry and my never-ending dissertation. She stayed for lunch, and greeted Scorpius (who came in just as we were sitting down to sandwiches) with an embrace worthy of her surname.

"So, had a good time, did you? With the ginger girl, I mean?" she asked, once Scorpius had had a chance to sit down and get a bite. He was barely fazed, although I think I did catch a bit of disappointment in his voice.

"Oh, right. Sure did. We talked 'till twelve or so, then went up to her place in Diagon Alley. Ministry's putting her up while she's in the country."

"In the country?" Rose asked. "Foreign girl, then?"

"Italian"

Rose smiled wickedly. "Ooh. Always heard those were the best lovers. Think she'll share?"

"Ha!" Scorpius pointed at me. "What did I tell you? Pay up, man. That was the first question out of her mouth."

"Pay up?" I asked. "Since when did we have a bet?"

"I told you that would be the first question she'd ask – if she could have some, too. There it is. Five Galleons, mate," he said, pointing to his outstretched palm.

"In all fairness, Scorpius, I actually asked Al if she was fit before I asked him if she'd share. So that was my second question." Rose winked at me conspiratorially as Scorpius's face fell.

"Oh, well. You know, I think you're right; I'm not sure there was a bet. Still, she's not going to share, love. But she was intrigued when I told her about this arrangement of ours. Called it very French, for some reason." Rose got a faraway look in her eyes.

"Really? What else did she say?" Right. I knew that particular look, and it had nothing to do with anything I wanted them to be doing in my flat. Especially when she matched it with that breathy tone.

"Right. I still feel like a hippogriff did the mambo on my skull all night. You two get going – I'm headed back to bed." I'm not sure I was even finished with that sentence before they were gone. But it was hardly the last lunch I'd share with them over the next few weeks.

Rose hatched a plan to lure Cara into bed with them that exploded on her rather comically. That required two pots of tea, three salmon-cucumber sandwiches and a split flagon of firewhiskey to get her over it. Cara was introduced to Draco and Asteria at a party at the Zabini's, which cost me an evening and four flagons of firewhiskey. Hogwarts unleashes a new crop of leaving Seventh Years onto Wizarding society, and Rose finds her dance card very full of young Hufflepuff alumnae. This costs me three separate Saturday afternoons, two boxes of chocolates, six flagons of firewhiskey and a drunk Malfoy on my couch.

I wasn't aware how bad things had gotten until Rose appeared in my muggle university's library one Sunday morning.

"Albus, help." she whispered. Then she swore "Oh, sod it anyway," and cast a privacy charm around us.

"Rose, these are muggles here. You can't just go about waving your wand like you're in Hogsmeade. What's gotten into you?"

"Then I'll fucking _Obliviate_ them myself, Al. But I need your help. I don't know what to do."

"What to do about what?"

"Cara. I hate that bitch. But he won't let her go – it's like she's a second girlfriend for him or something."

"Sure, but isn't that what you wanted – an open relationship?"

"Yes, of course, but this isn't really what I had in mind." I couldn't help it. I know I'm supposed to be the empathic, understanding one of us, but I just had to laugh, which Rose didn't like so much at all.

"That's just not fair," she complained. "He's still corresponding with her! She's been back in Italy for three weeks now, and we're still getting owls sent from the continent. I'm in a bind here, love, and you simply must help me." And she was right. It wasn't fair. Not fair at all. I looked at her pointedly for a moment, deciding how I was going to break this to her.

"Rose, do you love him?" I asked.

"Well, yes. Of course. We've been together now ten-"

"No, Rose. Do you really love him? Do you miss him while he's at work, do you smile just because he's happy, does Celestina Warbeck make sense to you when he's around? Do you really love him?" She thought about this a moment before replying.

"Yes, Albus. Yes. I suppose really do love him."

"Then why won't you just be with him?"

"What do you mean? I'm – We're – "

"No you're not. You're playing this game, trying to justify your edginess while denying yourself and him a true shot at happiness. Scorpius worships the ground you walk on, Rose. He can't stand this arrangement you two have. He only agreed to it because he knew it would be the only way he got to be with you. There aren't terribly many wizards who would do this – I certainly wouldn't. You have one of the good ones there, love. He deserves better."

"You're right, of course. It was probably awfully selfish of me to force this on him like that." Rose took a deep breath before continuing. "But I just don't know if I can have the kind of conventional relationship he's looking for."

"Why not?"

"It's just... It's not really me, you see. It's not who I am."

"Rose," I said to her finally, "you really have to make a decision. You're going to have to decide if it's more important for you to be cool or to be happy. I love you like a sister, and I'll support you either way. But Scorpius is my best mate, and this is really hurting him. And if I'm honest, it's hurting me to watch you two go around like this. I need to get back to the studying, love, but think about this. Think about Scorpius, and what having him in your life means to you. And think honestly about how important this image you've created for yourself is. It may be that image is more important to you right now; and that's fine. You owe it to Scorpius to level with him, then. Do whatever's right for you; just be honest about it." Rose nodded her head mutely, kissed my cheek and walked out, leaving me to my studies.

It was the following Wednesday that I heard from her next. Her owl dropped a very simple note off at my flat that read:

"_Albus,_

"_Thank you for talking me down on Sunday. When did my cousin get so wise? I've made up my mind, but I'm going to need your help. Make sure you get Scorpius over to the Leaky on Saturday night between 8 and 9._

_Love and Solidarity, Rose."_

And, sure as rain, come Saturday night I have one cheesed-off Malfoy pacing in my living room, muttering about "last straws," and how he didn't care if she _ever_ came home this time. I did my part for whatever Rose had in mind for the poor boy though, and made sure that we chose the Leaky for that evening's debauch.

We walked in to the pub, where Hannah herself was working; my first indication that Rose had done some planning. The good publican sat us down along with a bottle of Odgen's finest, two stout mugs and a pre-emptive reproof that "I changed your nappies, Al. I'm not going to take your money, so you can just go ahead and put that purse away." We were a good ten minutes into our mugs when Hannah came by to top them off.

"Bird in the blue dress over there's been eyeing you two since you walked in, you know."

I had an idea what was going on, but for Rose's sake I let Scorpius catch on in his own time. You couldn't really see her, as there was a support pillar between our table and where she was standing, but we could certainly make out a royal blue dress cut rather scandalously high above the knee, and more than a bit of leg to go with it, heading down to a pair of shiny red pumps. I nearly shot her a Patronus informing her that Scorpius isn't exactly a leg man, but looking over, I noticed that his interest was more than piqued by my cousin's display. He took five Galleons from his purse, placed them in Hannah's hand, and asked her to "set the young lady up with whatever she's having". Hannah smiled and walked back to the bar to do just that.

The legs which had so successfully monopolized my friend's attention slowly slid their way out from behind the support pillar, and I watched as Scorpius's mouth dropped open as his girlfriend strutted straight towards him; with her hips swaying and her eyes fixed on his.

"Rose!" Scorpius exclaimed, fairly jumping out of his chair once he got his wits about him.

"Sssh," she replied, placing a finger on his lips. "Let me say something, love." Rose sat Scorpius down, and took a seat at our table next to him. "This arrangement we've had has been just dreadful for both of us. I think we need to make some changes to the ground rules. Is that alright with you?" Scorpius looked a bit perplexed.

"I suppose," he answered warily. "What did you have in mind?"

"First," Rose replied, "this open relationship isn't working, and that has to end now. Agreed?"

"Of course. I was never too terribly keen on that, but you've probably figured that out."

"Excellent. That's settled, then. There's one more change to our relationship I'd like to make, Scorpius."

"Yes? What's that?" Rose grabbed both of Scorpius's hands tightly, and looked deeply into his eyes.

"I think I should very much like to marry you."

"You think you should – Rose Weasley, did you just ask me to marry you?" Scorpius looked rather taken aback by this.

"Why yes," Rose answered. "Yes I did. Scorpius Malfoy, would you do me the honour of – wait, should I get on one knee to do this? There are so bloody few guidelines out there on how to ask your bloke to marry you." Scorpius got up laughing, and pulled Rose to her feet, and into an embrace.

"Yes. Yes of course I will," he said between chuckles. "Couldn't have imagined it happening any other way."


End file.
